


Milk Tea

by sass_bot



Series: Ashes in the Snow [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 14:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sass_bot/pseuds/sass_bot
Summary: Old scars and old demons plague Areina before bed[Originally posted on tumbr 01.09.2018]





	Milk Tea

“You’re spilling milk all over the table.”

Bram’s voice is croaky but firm. Eyes shut, but he knows her hand is shaking again.

“I’m sorry,” Areina replies breathlessly, placing the milk jug down on the small oak table and reaching cautiously for a washcloth.

A warm hand reaches for hers and takes over the cleaning. She can feel the heat radiating from his body and she stiffens with alarm. “It’s alright, love. I can do this much.”

She watches him quietly, every edge in his face lit up by the candlelight, the shadows at the corners of his lips raised in a permanent smile. And, not for the first time today, her heart swells with worry. “You should be resting, vhenan. You’re ill.”

Bram chuckles at that, as if the mere idea of some common flu resigning him to bed is as laughable as nugs overthrowing Starkhaven. “So you’ve said. But by the looks of it, you’re the one who should be resting. You’re shaking. Your arm is hurting again, isn’t it?”

Her hand follows his gaze, fingers ghosting over the scar the anchor left behind on her arm, and twinges of pain travel down to nerve endings she knows aren’t there anymore. In the back of her mind, she half expects to look down at her hand and see into the fade –its phantom emerald glow and the singing of lyrium under her boots.

Bram watches as his wife’s eyes gloss over. He sets down the cloth and squeezes her shoulders, almost enough to bring her pain, but not quite. It’s enough to remind her that the only thing under her boots is dried ink and hardwood floors.

“Indigo is finally asleep. Perhaps we should retire to bed.”

Areina’s lips tighten in a frown as her eyes pass over her husband’s, bringing his entire face into sharp focus. “I was going to make you some milk tea,” she tells him, her cadence hinting that it’s more, but that Bram oughtn’t to pry further.

The grin that lights up his face is enough to ease the tension in Areina’s brows. “Bit late for that, now, love. I think it’s more milk than tea at this point.”


End file.
